Getting There Can Be Daunting

The protohistoric Sobaipuri dig site is an hour’s ride, half of which is on a bumpy dirt road. Morning coffee ‘hits’ about mid point and luckily for us there is a very active gas station and mart.

As I am heading back to the ladies room Jim comes down the aisle looking very worried. "Man is down in the men’s room. Can you see to him?"

In I go! My eyes looking for the man- I see him. "Call 911 anyone," I say loudly to who ever is there.

Men in stalls, men at the urinals I really don’t see them.

Elderly man, 80s probably, and he is braced against a stall, one leg tucked under him. I drop down next to him and start asking him questions. He mumbles.

As I talk I check his leg and it moves and he does not wince. He tells me the leg is ok and without pain. I have the leg out from under him and note the bleeding from his left ear. He responds but eyes roll back into his head. I place my fingers under his right jaw and monitor his pulse as I lift his jaw to maintain an open air way. His pulse is erratic.

He comes to and says he wants to go home. In talking with him, I find out he is driving by himself to home about 30 miles away. He has heart problems. He tries to get up. I talk him out of it by telling him the EMTs are on the way.

His pulse is irregular. He slides out of consciousness again.

EMTs are here - scissors are out and "there goes the gray shirt," I say to Jim – an inside joke. We laugh a nervous laugh.

I give the EMTs a quick report and leave. Inside the car I shake.

I attended another accident months later and emailed Jim about it. His email back is priceless:

"Our morning in the men’s room pales in comparison!"